


Excerpts From A Diary

by tokii



Series: 壊れた方 [24]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 01:10:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokii/pseuds/tokii
Summary: An exceptional new student captures Tom Riddle's attention, leaving him to wonder whether or not she has a place in the world he's trying to build.Tag: Yellow (Fine)
Series: 壊れた方 [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542805





	Excerpts From A Diary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophisthoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisthoe/gifts).

Excerpts from the Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle

“Typological analysis of journal entries ... Legal name: Tom Marvolo Riddle ... indicative of Schizoid personality disorder ... adopted persona ... Lord Voldemort ... warrants classification ... Schizoid murderer ... indifference to social relationships … gross separation of intellect and emotion ... Charming ... vicious ambition ... handwriting characteristics: angled; separation; narrowness; wide spaces between words; ... upright slant; exaggeration or peculiarities; “artistic corrections” to work ...”

  * Marjorie K. Diggory, Ph.D

_Etiology of Serial Murder in the Wizarding World_, published by Hallows ltd., 2005.

••

August 7th, 1939

I dreamt last night of a moonless sky, the echoed cries of the perishing adrift on her winds. The sun had set bloody on the horizon, blackened and leaking, slipping behind Hogwarts’ towers. And the castle was ablaze. Flames licked up into the darkened heavens and gorged themselves on stone and flesh throughout the night. Futile spells splintered through the cracking mortar, the desperate efforts of the dying - all 300 of them. Mudbloods. Half-bloods. Sympathizers. Inferiors.

A red-stained field appeared in the background. It bubbled and gasped, filled with the descendants of those burning: all their possible heirs, all of the abominations to be birthed to those unworthy of wizardry. Then the field keeled beneath the night’s fiery breath and was swallowed by the earth. All was still. I stood before the pale ashen rain, the crackling rubble, and the twisted, charred remains. A ribbon of smoke swirled from my wand. And I laughed.

I’m smiling now, as I write this, the stink of death still clinging to me. **I** will be the one to usher in this night. Descended of Salazar Slytherin, I will be a Lord among pureblooded lines. And I will refine the wizarding world with fire.

August 13th, 1939

The dream is recurring. But this night, I wasn’t alone when I witnessed the flames. I had only just begun to laugh at the smoldering ruins, when a whining snigger interrupted me. I whipped to my right, wand at the ready. And I paused in the face of the intruder – a girl, no more than 14 years of age. Shadows danced across her face, and her smile gleamed in the glow of the firelight. Dark ringlets hung around her shoulders, and a dainty nose peeked out from high-set cheeks. Her wand dangled at her side, twirling between practiced fingers. Elder wood.

It’s curious... Elder is a highly unusual wand, and as singular as its carrier. It’s quite powerful - meant only for superior wizards. She lingers as an after image in my mind. Her eyes had shone a deep grey in the yellow night… Elder is marked with a certain destiny.

It’s also deeply unlucky.

August 25th, 1939

I’ve found her: the curious girl with grey eyes. She carries an Elder wand. Surname: Crouch. One of the oldest pureblood families in Great Britain, the Crouch family is among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. This girl may prove a most useful ally.

August 26th, 1939

Her name is Aurora – Latin, for dawn. It’s derived from the Roman goddess of the dawn in mythology. Her brother was the sun, and her sister, the moon. The goddess Aurora was a seductress of her mortal lovers, prone to falling in love with her playthings. It was her downfall…

This girl will not be mine.

Her name is antithetical to my purpose, my calling. If I am to summon the darkness, I cannot align myself with the dawn…

\--- And yet, I have never had much luck in life. Unlike the rest of these simpletons with their drivel, I am not superstitious. Fortune and myth have no hold over me. Let us hope that the girl has little in common with her name.

August 30th, 1939

I approached her today, beneath the apple tree in the courtyard. We spoke at some length, exchanging pleasantries and laughing over our professors’ distinctive absurdities. And though her pristine smile beamed, and her cheeks flushed with pleasure, her eyes… were unmoving. Unfazed by emotion, unyielding was her gaze. Piercing, they revealed a masked malice, a rooted proclivity for violence. Her soft face was well practiced in deception, but her eyes… darkness swirled in the deep grey. And I was enthralled. She is a truly enchanting creature. Shadows from the apple tree fell across her face. And I was reminded of my dream, of the blazing fire, and her impassioned appeal for death – for the dark arts. Exquisite.

September 15th, 1939

The veil has been felled – her veil. The sharpness of her cruelty, bound by tender skin, unearthed. Her soul is akin to mine.

I met with Aurora to discuss our more sensitive ambitions. I sought the dreams left festering within her, buried in the depths. My frankness allowed her freedom. And the darkness in her eyes ebbed and curled around her speech. Malice dripped from every word. She loathes those beneath us as I do. She vowed herself to my mission. A purging of the wizarding world is at hand. And I’ve gained a most potent ally.

••

August 7th, 1940

If I believed in such a thing as the fates, I would imagine that they’ve looked favorably upon me today. A fortuitous encounter with a practitioner of the dark arts has led me to an inescapable conclusion. My immortality will be gained through the demise of the weak and impure. And by their suffering, I will become a Lord to those that are of pure blood. I’ve learned of a book that details the dark magic required to tether my soul to this earthly plane. It will soon be in my possession.

October 14th, 1940

It’s been but a few short months. And I pride myself on my resourcefulness. I’ve uncovered it, the wizarding world’s most safe-guarded jewel: The Secrets of the Darkest Art. The only one of its kind, hidden from societal view in its entirety. The magic is hardly whispered amongst the cruelest of us…

This text has revealed to me the darkest of arts. Now that I understand the basis for the creation of horcruxes, I can secure my vision with nearly indestructible magic. I will be a reckoning for the impure. A savior to the noblest lines. I will be a Lord of dark magic. I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, descended of Salazar Slytherin. I. I am. I am Lord Voldemort.

November 23rd, 1941

I have tasked Aurora with assisting me in gathering mystical items, for the purpose of creating horcruxes. Though she was hesitant at first, she has assured me of her loyalty.

In the past two years, she has become my most trusted second. I value her service, deeply. I am also disturbed by her recent actions. As I amass more followers, I have noticed changes in her. The darkness in her eyes has faded, replaced with a dim glow. Her beautiful smile has become seemingly more genuine; she no longer masks her emotions, and they become less ferocious still. I fear that she is losing sight of our mission. She is suddenly filled with compassion. And I do not know how to remedy this. I cannot lose her. She is too valuable to me.

January 10th, 1942

In a rare moment, Aurora and I sat beneath the apple tree – together. I shared my most recent rumination on committing untraceable murder, and she began stroking my hair while she listened. I ran out of fantastical murderous exploits and began then recounting my latest ideas concerning efficient torture… if just to have her hand linger a bit longer. And she stayed her hand. Her fingers twirled, and delicately traced my scalp. For an hour, I felt her skin against mine, and I couldn’t help myself but to long for her touch. An odd sensation, but pleasing nonetheless…

I often forget how exquisite of a creature she is…

I cannot lose her, not yet.

••

July 24th, 1945

I was recently employed at the asinine establishment known as Borgin and Burkes, for the purpose of acquiring the items owed to me by birthright. If I am to stoop so low as to pander candy to sniveling children, it is but for the sole purpose of rising above all as Lord Voldemort.

I recently have begun an elaborate enterprise to manipulate the witch Hepzibah Smith into revealing to me her treasury of artifacts belonging to pure bloodlines. If I am to tie my souls to objects, they should be fitting of my noble blood.

I have heard rumors of the Hufflepuff Cup being in her possession, among other enchanted objects. Aurora and I have invested ourselves fully into acquiring all of Hepzibah’s magical possessions, no matter the consequences. Of all my followers, I am thankful to have her at my side in this… If I am forced to kill Hepzibah, I will need one of a steady hand and cold heart beside me. There is no one I trust more apart from Aurora.

August 10th, 1945

<strike>I didn’t think. </strike>

<strike>Well, I didn’t mean</strike>…

<strike>I’m not sorry, but</strike>

A tear seems to have smeared the lettering…

I spent my day screaming curses at birds.

It didn’t alleviate the pain.

Aurora.

You aligned yourself with the darkness… despite being the dawn of new days. You did not know yourself well enough to know that you had too much in common with your name.

••

The wind shifts gently through the meadow grass, the slight rustling made harsher by the otherwise prevailing quiet. It happened so quickly, her pointing her Elder wand at him, her lips forming around a whisper – “Imper…” He reacted on instinct, screaming Avada Kedavra as the field exploded with light.

Tom’s lying on his back, eyes wide, the crack of the magic ringing in his ears. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, his knuckles white and his wand clenched in his fist. Blood drips to his nose, streaming from his aching forehead. His eyes are wide, staring ahead at where she stood, slack-faced in shock. But the grass is still, slick with a glistening red, the tremoring of blades due only to the shifting wind.

He hadn’t the time to process her actions before realizing they were in a duel. Her mouth began forming the words, but he couldn’t hear the whisper on her lips. Aurora’s mouth had stretched with a short “I” and “M,” followed by the rounded puff of a sighed “P” and a long “E.” But Tom had beat her to it, the locket of Salazar Slytherin now fully powered as a horcrux and clutched close to his chest. His third kill, the third severing of his soul. But she was forming the words. And, yet…

The sticky-sweet scent of magic rifts from the freshly sprouted grass. The blood, it isn’t hers. The morning’s first rays alight the scarlet curtain covering the field, and the blowing wind causes the field to burst into sporadic waves of fire. The grass burning with red, it’s Imperata, the aptly named Japanese bloodgrass. The once golden field is now drenched as if with blood. The entire meadow sways in unison, a lazy river of scarlet running at his feet. Red is his favorite color. And now Imperata sways in the place where she stood, burning red beneath the sun. His third kill, lying cool and still in the field of rippling blood.

He mistook her whisper for the curse Imperio. It wasn’t beyond her nature, and he should have expected her to try and take the horcrux vessel from him. But she had turned the field into Imperata, Japanese bloodgrass. His nose drips and blood splatters against the red grass. He stares at the droplet, now sliding down a single blade. To have killed in a field of blood… the literal irony was overwhelming. The difference between the word for Japanese blood grass and the Latin word for control is one letter: Imperata versus Imperato. Imperata translates to bidding, Imperato, to control. He believed her intentions were to take control of his person, prying the one thing he deems important from him… The Old English word bidden is “to ask.” Aurora was asking for his affections, bidding for Tom’s love. This was the gesture. And now she lays in a field of bloodgrass of her own making. This is the difference between an act of love and a curse. A single letter. Semantics can often be the difference of life and death. The meaning of a name. A single letter in a word. Whether the fates have deemed you lucky or not. And today, the difference was written in blood. Maybe love is a curse.

He holds out the horcrux he had just paid for with Aurora’s life. And for an instant, Tom sees a flash of scarlet in the swirl of his muddy brown eyes, as if emerging from the recesses. He blinks and looks again into the polished surface. Blood splatters against the silver, and the Japanese blood grass reflects off the locket. It must have just been a reflection. Dawn begins to appear on the horizon, and the field of blood begins to keel beneath the sun’s rays, as if being swallowed by the earth herself. Tom’s knees buckle, and he falls to the ground, his hair a sticky red. The horcrux lays in his open palm, bare beneath the dawn, blinking red into the morning light.

••

Aurora whispers “Imperata” through a preemptive smile, and all the grass in the meadow bleed beneath her spell, the wave of color emanating from where she stands. She and Tom had found Salazar Slytherin’s locket purely by chance, and she had given hours of thought to how they were going to celebrate once they returned to Hogwarts. But this was far more beautiful than she anticipated. The last stretches of the field brim with the evidence of her spell, and the wind prods the newly reddened grass as she turns to see his face. But his eyes are crazed and burning a fiery red, his features grossly contorted. Her confusion turns to horror as he throws his wand point in her direction, his voice cracking as he screams a curse. Red is Tom’s favorite color…

••

Closing remarks concerning the excerpts found in the Tom Marvolo Riddle Diary by Dr. Marjorie K. Diggory.

  * Riddle’s regaling of the incident with Miss Aurora might be explained as an early manifestation of his “Lord Voldemort” form. The reflection in the horcrux might be a representation of Tom’s eyes before they were changed into their later appearance: snakelike and red in color.
  * The “Salazar Slytherin Locket” used by Riddle to form a horcrux was likely acquired through the witch Hepzibah Smith. It is likely that Smith was not participatory in Riddle’s procurement of the locket. It is also likely that Riddle was directly involved in the murder of Hepzibah Smith, and that he obtained other such artifacts within her possession, such as the Hufflepuff Cup. The powering of the Hufflepuff Cup as a horcrux is accepted among wizardry professionals to be highly associated with the death of Hepzibah Smith
  * The identity of Miss Aurora and her inclusion in the Riddle diary has confounded many academic professionals in the wizarding community, since there is no record of a Miss Aurora at Hogwarts. Hypothesized genealogy studies conducted on Miss Aurora, using the information found in the Riddle diary, has led many historians to postulate that Aurora was the daughter of Caspar Crouch. Surname Crouch was one of the oldest pure-blood families in Great Britain prior to 1995. Though many records of this family have been lost, it has been confirmed that Caspar Crouch had two daughters, and that the family line died in 1995 with the death of the last daughter. It is hypothesized by many wizardry historians that the Miss Aurora referred to in the Riddle diary is the older daughter of Casper Crouch, since the younger sister, Moon Crouch, went missing in the summer of 1995. It is possible that what records remain of the family might have been tampered with, as the Hogwarts registration records show.
  * Based on various records gathered from Hogwarts and findings on known death eaters, the other members of Riddle’s in-school following might have included, but were not limited to: Avery, Lestrange, Rosier, Mulciber, Nott, Dolohov,and Malfoy.
  * Passages seem to indicate that Riddle suffered from acute narcissism, megalomania, sadism, and had an obsession with power. It should also be noted that various excerpts provide insight into Riddle’s infatuation with death, which is complemented by his clinically severe fear of it.
  * The Marvolo-Gaunt ring has been confirmed as Riddle’s second horcrux. The family signet ring was stolen from Morfin Gaunt. It is likely that Riddle framed Gaunt for the murder of Riddle’s father and grandparents, changing Gaunt’s memory to have him sent to Azkaban.


End file.
